


you and me, we're like lock and key

by RonnieMinor



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Clintasha - Freeform, F/M, Feels, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieMinor/pseuds/RonnieMinor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's always been the two of them. That doesn't change after the battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you and me, we're like lock and key

After the ’incident’, there was the shawarma that Tony insisted they all ate. All except Loki, who refused to be handcuffed to Thor’s chair and was taken away by Nick Fury for a while - nobody has been able to get to the bottom of what happened yet, but Loki didn’t speak for hours afterwards. Clint suspects Justin Bieber was involved. 

Then there was clubbing. In Tony’s club. Because obviously, Tony has a club. Three, actually. 

Clint has never been much of a drinker, partly because of his training, partly just because, so he remembers most of the night. Tasha does too, but then she’s Russian and he knows for a fact that she’s been drinking since she was about 14 - she could probably drink half the club under the table and still shoot an apple off his head from ten metres away. 

Watching everyone else… well it’s entertaining, to say the least. 

Thor does alright until someone decides Absinthe is a good idea. A dozen shots later, some blonde is wearing his helmet and he’s blearily leading a group of about twenty people in some Asgardian song that seems to involve a lot of innuendos about milkmaids and farmers’ daughters. He passes out about an hour later. It takes four operatives to remove him from the club and get him into a S.H.I.E.L.D. car. 

Tony is, of course, drunk within about half an hour. So yeah, he died earlier that day and his tolerance isn’t up to scratch, but Clint has suspicions that Tony just likes to go hard and fast regardless. He doesn’t seem like the type to be patient. Still, it’s pretty funny watching him staggering around and plying Steve with drinks more and more frequently as the evening goes on. 

Steve fends of Tony’s advances pretty well for the first couple of hours, but after he drinks a couple of beers - which are apparently much improved from the 1940s - and after the fifth time a scantily clad, perma-tanned girl hits on him, he stops turning down the drinks Tony gives him. Apparently jaegerbombs weren’t really around in the forties, because he’s dancing after two and singing after four. He gets a lift back from Tony and Bruce - or rather, he gets a lift back _with_ them, driven by one of Tony’s many, many entourage. Tony’s practically unable to stand by that point, so it’s a relief to know that he’s not driving. 

Bruce is the only one to stop after a single beer. Clint suspects this has something to do with the whole Hulk thing and the fact that laying waste to Tony’s club - and probably hurting or killing people in the process - isn’t the scientist’s idea of a good night. The irony is that someone gives him a joint instead of a cigarette without him realising, so Bruce spends the entire night high as a kite, laughing at everything like he’s a preschool kid. It’s actually kind of endearing. 

They’re all gone by 3am, then it’s just him and Tasha, just how it always is. How it should be. 

Of course she manages to get him to dance - if anyone can make him do anything, it’s her. And it’s easy with Tasha, because they’re used to being around each other; being together. They’ve been on enough missions and used enough covers by now that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, or to hide. So yeah, he dances with her until the club closes and the sun’s starting to peek over the horizon. Then they hail a cab and head to the nearest hotel, both crashing on the king-size bed and asleep within minutes. 

* * *

He regrets the dancing a couple of hours later when he’s woken up by a very pointy finger jabbing him in the side. Nick Fury is standing beside the bed and regarding him with a look that somehow manages to encompass unimpressed, surprised and confused all in one. 

‘G’mornin sir’, he manages, rubbing a hand over his face and trying not to move too much because his head _really_ hurts. And so does the rest of him. Perhaps clubbing hadn’t been a good idea after several sleepless days and getting his ass kicked first by Tasha, then Loki’s Chitauri army. Scratch that. It _definitely_ hadn’t been a good idea. 

Nick is still staring at him. ‘Barton, what the hell is this? Why are you in a hotel? Why are you in bed with Romanoff? Why are you still wearing your boots?’ 

‘Blame Stark’, Tasha mumbles from the other side of the bed. ‘It’s all his fault.’ Clint can tell just from the tone of her voice that’s she’s pretty much asleep - she’d never be this informal if she was fully conscious. Still. She has a point. 

‘Stark insisted we go to one of his clubs. Wouldn’t take no for an answer’, he says, still not quite able to motivate himself to sit up. 

Fury rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah, I know that, wise-ass. How do you think that hulking Asgardian got a ride? What I want to know is why _you_ are _here_.’ 

Clint nods slowly and makes a face. ‘Oh. Well that… that you can blame on Tasha. Sir.’ 

Tasha limply raises a hand in affirmation, face pressed into the pillow. ‘Guilty as charged sir’, she mumbles, voice muffled. ‘They had some decent vodka for a change.’ 

Fury actually rolls his eyes. 

‘Well how about the pair of you idiots get your sorry asses out of this bed, downstairs and into the vehicle waiting outside. I have things for you to do today.’ He fixes Clint with a particularly stern look. ‘Barton, if you and Romanoff aren’t in the car in five minutes, I’m going to keep you out of the field for a month.’ 

Then he’s out of the door, shutting it _loudly_ behind him. Clint is entirely sure it was done on purpose. He groans. 

Slowly, he turns over to look at Tasha, who is still face down in the pillow, looking for all intents and purposes like she’s dead. ‘How’re you feeling, Tash?’ 

She mutters something unintelligible and then turns her head so she’s facing him. ‘Like shit. I mean, not really that hungover. But yesterday was intense. I’m pretty sure I have some crazy bruises. And I could really have done with a day or two of sleep.’ 

Clint nods. ‘I know how you feel.’ Groaning, he drags himself up and off the bed, stretching a hand out to her. ‘Come on. Maybe we can sleep back at HQ.’ 

She takes his hand, shaking her head and sighing as she gets up. ‘Yeah, sure.’ Then, very briefly, she reaches up to cup her palm against his cheek. ‘I’m glad you made it through. Things just wouldn’t be the same without you.’ 

He nods. ‘I know. But you know I owe you.’ 

She grins. ‘Of course. I’ll call in that debt when I’m good and ready, don’t you worry.’ She picks up her shoes, dangling them off her fingers by the straps. ‘Let’s go and face the music then.’ 

They go down together. Just like usual. 

* * *

As it turns out, Nick was screwing with them, because the only ‘work’ they have to do is watch Thor and Loki head off back to Asgard and then they’re sent off on leave for a fortnight. 

To an island in the Pacific with white sandy beaches and wooden cabins built out over the sea. 

Further exploration turned up a bar, a restaurant, locals and tourists. It also showed - once again - that Nick Fury had a fairly twisted sense of humour, as he’d booked them into the honeymoon suite. Ok, so the suite was actually a set of cabins, but still. One bed. Bottles of champagne left for the happy couple and rose petals strewn on the one bed. 

Tasha just laughs. ‘Well it’s not like we ever _really_ get time off from our job is it? It’d be too risky to be here without a cover.’ Clint rolls eyes at her. She rolls hers back. ‘Oh come on Clint, it’s not like we haven’t done this before. It’ll be like Sao Paulo, or Rome, or Beijing. Hell we’ve used this cover more times than I can remember.’ 

‘I know Tash. But it’s supposed to be a _holiday_. I was looking forward to a double bed of my own, and being able to do whatever I want.’ 

She fixes him with a look. It’s not a pleased look. ‘Is my company so dreadful?’ 

‘Of course not Tash. C’mon, don’t tease. You know what I mean.’ 

She laughs and punches him in the arm, which - because it’s Tasha - hurts. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. I’m just messing you around.’ Then she heads over to the giant Louis Vuitton suitcase at the foot of the bed that’s clearly meant for her. ‘Now let’s see what we’re up to this week - personally, I vote scuba diving!’ 

* * *

In spite of their 'newly-wed' status and the pretence that goes with it, things go surprisingly well. Mostly they spend time by themselves, either doing one of the many activities on offer or wandering around the island. Clint doesn't end up on his own very much, but that's ok actually. He's used to spending a lot of time with Tasha, so it's not like it it's a strain. 

It's more than that though. Rarely - very rarely - does a mission go as badly wrong as this one had from start to finish. And in circumstances like this, being on your own... well it isn't a good idea. 

So they stick together. And if Clint notices the way Tasha looks at him sometimes, like she's checking that he's still him, well, he isn't going to mention it. After all, she hasn't commented on the fact that he's barely slept since they arrived - too scared that he might wake up different. 

It's something of a relief when their 'vacation' is extended by a week. Although they haven't really spoken about it, neither of them is ready to return to work yet, that much is clear. 

* * *

It starts spilling out towards the end of the first week, little bits and pieces slipping into the gaps in conversation. Questions asked in the dark. 

‘Do you remember any of the things you did? I mean, when you were under Loki’s spell.’ The bed is large and they’re on opposite sides, hesitant to get too close. Tasha is on her side, watching him. He stares up at the ceiling and listens to the waves outside. 

‘Yes’, he admits, long minutes later. ‘I remember everything. The thing is, it’s not like I was trapped inside my own head or anything. It’s not like I was unwilling. I wanted to do everything Loki asked, just because he told me too.’ 

There’s a pause, like she’s thinking. Then, ‘So you were brainwashed?’ 

He shrugs. ‘Something like that I guess. I would never have done anything for him in my right mind. It’s strange though - I don’t regret any of the things I did. I know I should, but it’s like my brain refuses to accept that what I did was wrong.’ 

A small hand reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. ‘It’s ok. Like you said, you’d never have done it if you’d been yourself. And it’s not like the rest of us wouldn’t have been the same, if we’d been in your place.’ 

‘Would you Tasha? _Really?_ ’ He knows she’s trying to be reassuring, but even though he makes his living as an assassin, there’s a part of him that can’t forgive himself for this. 

The silence is so long that he thinks she’s fallen asleep - or worse, that’s she’s agreeing with him. 

Then, so quiet that he barely hears it: ‘I would have been worse.’ And after a beat, ‘He frightens me, Clint.’ 

He knows how much it costs her to admit that, so there’s no shame in him saying, ‘Me too.’ Nor is there anything wrong in him rolling over and pulling her into an embrace until their heartbeats slow and they’re calm enough to sleep. 

* * *

After that, it’s a little easier. They talk more freely; it feels like a boil has been lanced and now all that remains is to drain it. All the hurt, pain and fear are out in the open; it’s actually almost frightening how much they share with one another. But this isn’t like anything they’ve been through before, so the response somehow seems less unnatural. 

And if they sleep curled up together now, well that’s nobody’s business but their own. 

* * *

The second week is drawing to a close when they decide to take a long walk on the beach. The night air is warm, the stars are crystal clear and sparkling, and the sea washes gently against the shore. In short, it’s the perfect setting for a romantic stroll and therefore, it’s the perfect cover for them to talk about Loki. Still, their hands are laced together, swinging as they walk, and later Clint slings an arm around Tasha’s shoulders, pulling her into his side. 

They talk about Loki and the Chitauri for a bit, but they’ve been talking about it a lot lately and soon they move on to other topics of conversation. As always, they have millions of things to talk about; their companionship is as easy as ever. 

When they reach the farthest point of the island they stop. Clint takes a seat, sinking into the soft sand and watching as Tasha finds pebbles to skim across the sea. She does well in spite of the waves, but that’s no real surprise. 

He continues to watch as she skips into the tide line, shrieking at the first touch of cool water, then giggling as she races the waves. It’s a good fifteen minutes before she walks up the beach to him, sarong hugging her legs damply, hair tousled by the breeze. Her smile is more carefree than he’s seen in a long time. 

‘Come on’, she says, holding out a hand. ‘We’re going paddling.’ 

He rolls his eyes, but takes her hand and lets her pull him up. He turns up his trousers as he follows her out into the waves, taking her hand and running into the sea. They dash through the waves, then run away as the big ones come, breathless and laughing. 

They’re holding on to each other, wet to the waist and barely standing as they reach the tide line. Her eyes are sparkling in the starlight, the moon making her skin glow. She’s so small; so fragile. So perfect. And so he kisses her. 

It’s not their first kiss, not by a long way. Hell, they’ve been kissing a lot these past couple of weeks just so they don’t blow their cover. But it’s the first time he’s ever kissed her just because he wanted to; just because he can. Her lips are everything he remembers and so much more. 

* * *

The silence between them is charged as they walk home, hands laced together again, wet clothes clinging to them. They don’t say another word as they go back to the cabin, but as soon as the door’s closed, she lets him press her against it, her fingers winding into his hair. 

And this, _this_ , is new - this touching, this tasting. The peeling of clothes off wet bodies and the trailing of fingers across skin that’s never been theirs to touch before. The sounds she makes as he bites softly on her pulse point and the way her breath shakes as his hand dips low across her stomach. How she lights up every nerve in his body and makes him want her so badly that it _hurts_. 

Then it’s the slip and slide of long moments that seem to stretch into an eternity of bare skin and sweat. The air seems too thin, yet too heavy. He can’t breathe and _oh god_ they should have done this a long time ago. 

And suddenly, soaringly, it’s over. 

* * *

‘What happens when we go back?’ he asks, his arms around her, her head against his chest. 

‘I don’t know’, she says. ‘I don’t know.’ She sighs, her finger tracing patterns against his skin. ‘Can we just have this for now? Please?’ 

He never could refuse her a damn thing, so he kisses her hair and nods. 

‘Sure, we can have this’, he replies. ‘Sure.’


End file.
